


The Tol Eressëan Tales: Elf Deception

by Ghyste



Series: The Tol Eressëan Tales [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Complete, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghyste/pseuds/Ghyste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas hears the patter of tiny feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tol Eressëan Tales: Elf Deception

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 of the Tol Eressëan Tales - an occasional series of AU humour fics set, somewhat unsurprisingly, on Tol Eressëa sometime during the early centuries of the Fourth Age.

It was the knitting that started it.

Not of course that Legolas begrudged Frodo the right to fill up his time in any way that he chose. After all – one couldn’t spend the rest of ones long years on Tol Eressëa with just the two pastimes. Even though Frodo seemed intent on having enough sex with Sam to fill up a good couple of normal life spans that still left more than enough time to translate every elvish text ever written several times over. No, thought Legolas, if Frodo needed some other interests in life before he rendered Sam totally incapable of ambulatory motion, then knitting was as good as anything else.

It wasn’t the knitting that bothered Legolas so much as the size of the garments. They were small - not just hobbit-small but really, really small. That was when Gimli's words came back to haunt him.

“There’s a lot even the Valar don’t know about hobbits…”

Frodo couldn’t be…could he? Or maybe it was Sam? No, that was just too…

Legolas knew he had to do something to put his mind at rest one way or another, but he couldn’t just ask them – what if he was wrong? It wouldn’t do his reputation (such as there was left of it) any good at all if his suspicions were wide of the mark, especially when he was painfully aware that even harbouring the notion that one of the hobbits might be pregnant was preposterous to say the least. Unfortunately the same risks applied to talking to Gimli about the matter, particularly given the fact that he had been spot on when he’d suspected that Sam and Frodo were in love. He’d been quite insufferable ever since and, best friend though he might be, Legolas didn’t want to give him further reason to crow. 

So Legolas remained silent but started looking out for signs. That way he could spring his unexpected knowledge upon Gimli without any risk once he was absolutely sure of his facts and pretend that he knew as a result of his elvish intuition. After all, Gimli didn't know that that sort of thing only extended to other elves and neither Legolas nor any of his other acquaintances was likely to set him straight on the matter.

Recalling what little he knew of childbirth amongst mortals, Legolas considered his options. Given the usual size of a healthy hobbit belly he couldn’t really go by girth - even Frodo had long since lost the gauntness that had marked him during the days of the quest and for many years after. Even if Sam had more than a little to do with Frodo’s expanding waistline it didn’t prove anything other than the fact that, one way or another, Sam was Good in the Kitchen.

No…he needed to find something else to confirm his rapidly burgeoning suspicions. Fortunately, elven eyesight and hearing meant that they made great snoopers and their silent tread meant that Legolas could sneak into Frodo and Sam’s home unnoticed while the occupants were…otherwise engaged, painful though that might be to his sensibilities. Given the amount of time that Frodo and Sam devoted to being ‘otherwise engaged’, the main problem was, in fact, not with Frodo and Sam at all but with Gimli who, having run the gamut of obsessions earlier in the year, was very much at a loose end once more and not at all pleased when Legolas pulled one of his frequent disappearing acts. Legolas knew that the usual excuse of “talking to the trees” was wearing a bit thin when he noticed Gimli glaring at an inoffensive grove and fingering the blade of his axe.

Nevertheless, once he started looking, it didn’t take Legolas long to spot his first clue - the unmistakable signs of food cravings. He kept finding unusual and exotic foodstuffs secreted in strange places around Sam and Frodo’s home, ready, presumably, for when the urge hit. He supposed that whipped cream and honey on the kitchen table could be excused, despite the absence of anything else to eat them with, but the bread sauce under the sofa was definitely suspect and the blancmange in the woodshed even more so. However, it was the mackerel paste in the bathroom that really clinched the deal in his mind.

One can only assume that because of its links to the sea, the smell of mackerel paste has the same sort of effect on certain elves as the sound of gulls on the shore, because it was after that particular discovery that Legolas started having waking nightmares about seahorses and decided that elvish dignity be damned – he needed to talk to someone about his concerns. His thought turned to Galdor, whom he had first encountered on that fateful day so many years ago in the House of Elrond. Galdor had spent most of his long years near to the sea and thus was a good choice when one needed to unburden ones self and one’s concerns were not entirely unconnected with the reproductive capabilities of aquatic life forms. 

Thus it was that Galdor received a surprise visit one afternoon from a decidedly shifty looking Legolas. It took quite some time, and a fair few glasses of wine, before Legolas could work himself up to asking what he wanted to know:

"Galdor," he said, "tell me about seahorses."

“Well,” said Galdor, with an evil grin, “for a start, they’re not really horses.”

Legolas tapped his foot. “Just because I’m Sindarin it doesn’t mean I’ve got sawdust for brains.”

Galdor relented. “Very well, what exactly did you want to know?”

Legolas shuffled his feet uncomfortably and muttered, “It’s about their mating habits.” 

Although obviously still puzzled, Galdor began to educate his unusually ill at ease companion: “Seahorses mate during the full moon.”

Full moon, waxing moon, waning moon, dark of the moon, more like, thought Legolas.

“They normally go through a series of courtship rituals that lasts several days before they mate.”

Several days? Frodo didn’t seem to be able to make it through several minutes without leaping on Sam - it was truly amazing what the regenerative properties of Tol Eressëa could do to a hobbit. Legolas was extremely relieved that elves, or at least those without any mortal blood, seemed to be immune to such things. 

“The courtship ritual involves such things as colour changes and synchronised swimming.”

Legolas’ internal monologue suddenly externalised itself.

“Synchronised swimming?” he yelped.

Frodo certainly had enough Brandybuck blood to indulge in that sort of activity, but he couldn't see Sam approving of it at all.

“It’s not that surprising - they are vertebrate fish, after all.” Galdor looked sharply at Legolas and raised his eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about seahorses at all?”

Legolas decided that he ought to come at least partially clean about his suspicions. “I have, ah, this friend, and I, err, think he might be, um, pregnant." Galdor raised his eyebrows at the pronoun but nonetheless maintained his silence, thus forcing Legolas to continue, somewhat testily: "Seahorses are the only creatures I know of where the male can carry the young.”

“Friend, eh?” said Galdor, somewhat sceptically, “well, contrary to common misconceptions, seahorses actually need both a male and a female to do the deed. So even if your ‘friend’ was somehow mysteriously possessed of a breeding pouch he still couldn’t get pregnant…however much he'd been messing around with, for example,” he paused meaningfully, “a certain muscular dwarf.”

Legolas spluttered indignantly, saying "I really don't know where everyone is getting this idea that Gimli and I…I mean, really..." before throwing his hands up in disgust and stalking off, leaving an open-mouthed Galdor with nothing to do but to watch his retreating back.

After his encounter with Galdor, Legolas really didn’t know which way to turn. However his preoccupation was shortly interrupted by an invitation to join Elrond and Celebrían for a celebratory feast; though the invitation failed to mention what exactly it was they were all supposed to be celebrating. He wasn’t really in the mood to party; less because of his relative lack of success on the detecting front than because of the strange looks people had begun to give him as he passed, although he would undoubtedly have far rather taken the opportunity to give Sam and Frodo’s home a thorough going over while they were at the celebration. But Gimli was most enthusiastic and Legolas didn’t like to disappoint him, given how neglectful he had been of his friend of late. Dwarves love parties and this one was being thrown by someone who had become a fast, if unlikely, friend during his foray into the thrilling world of First Aid. Not only that, but Galadriel would certainly be present at any party thrown by her son-in-law and Gimli could not be expected to pass up an opportunity to worship her from afar or, indeed, as close to her as he could find the excuse to get. So Legolas resigned himself to an evening out - after all, he supposed he could do a spot of hobbit watching and, unlike Gimli, had not seen Elrond or his wife for quite some time. He hoped that Celebrían was feeling better, she had seemed quite worn out the last time he’d seen her – not surprising given Elrond’s proclivities. Really, the way he carried on one would almost think that he was a hobbit.

The New House of Elrond was all aglow that night and anyone who was anyone on Tol Eressëa was there. Passing Galdor on the way in, Legolas had a slightly uncomfortable moment when the other elf winked knowingly at him and Legolas realized that he and Gimli were, entirely accidentally, dressed in colour-coordinated outfits. Little did he know that the evening was only going to go downhill from there on in. Try though he might, he found it almost impossible to relax and enjoy himself, particularly given that he could see Galdor out of the corner of his eye moving from group to group around the courtyard. Legolas was quite sure that he was talking about him and soon became convinced that the murmur of laughter that followed in Galdor’s wake was aimed in his direction. He gradually became more grumpy and withdrawn and this did not go unnoticed by his friends, who gathered together shooting concerned glances in his direction, thus confirming all of Legolas’ worst fears.

Fortunately, Legolas’ foray into paranoia was cut short when Gimli came over to join him. “You’re hardly the life and soul of the party this evening,” he commented, “wishing you could get away to do a bit more tree hugging?” 

“I do not hug trees,” replied Legolas irritably. “I’m just doing a bit of research, and I’d like to get back to it.”

“Research?” enquired Gimli, “what are you researching?”

“Hobbits,” answered Legolas, shortly.

“Hobbits?” repeated Gimli, “well, if you’re interested in hobbits, why didn’t you just ask me? I am something of an authority on the subject, if you recall.” He puffed out his already impressive barrel chest to an accompanying creak of leather. Legolas noticed a number of the females at the party taking note and then looking sharply away as they caught his eye.

“All right then,” he said, “do you remember the conversation we had when Sam and Frodo last came over for the evening?” 

“The bit about me getting them together?” queried Gimli with a smug grin.

“No,“ said Legolas “the bit about…” he glanced around and then whispered conspiratorially, “…seahorses.”

“Seahorses?” said Gimli, somewhat perplexed.

“Shhhh…” said Legolas, “keep your voice down.”

“What about seahorses?” whispered Gimli.

“What?” said Legolas, “I can’t hear you.”

“Well it’s kind of difficult to whisper in someone’s ear when that ear insists on being quite so far off of the ground,” grumbled Gimli.

“Never mind my ear,” said Legolas, “the point is that Frodo has started knitting.”

“But what has knitting got to do with seahorses?” asked Gimli, who was getting more and more confused by this conversation. He hadn’t drunk very much so far that evening so the problem had to be with Legolas. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m feeling fine,” said Legolas, “It’s Frodo, or possibly Sam, who has the problem.”

“What problem?” asked Gimli.

“The ‘seahorse’ problem, of course!” hissed Legolas.

Gimli suddenly twigged. “What? You think that Frodo, or possibly Sam, is pregnant just because Frodo has started knitting?” Gimli’s face cracked into a broad grin as he was overtaken by helpless laughter.

“Well, it’s not ‘just’ that,” remonstrated Legolas, “and it’s not funny.”

“But don’t you know?” chortled Gimli, “I thought everyone knew.” 

“Know what?” asked Legolas, completely unprepared for this turn in the conversation.

“Why Frodo’s been knitting and why we’ve been invited here tonight,” said Gimli, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. “Admittedly you’ve been so distracted lately it’s a wonder you can find the nose on your face, but with those much vaunted elvish senses of yours I’d have thought you’d have spotted it straight off.”

“Spotted what?” said Legolas, his voice rising a few pitches.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to get all hysterical about it,” said Gimli, folding his arms and doing his best to look as implacable as the Walls of Moria.

“I am not hysterical!” shrieked Legolas…just as the crowd fell silent and Elrond made his entrance. Elrond raised his eyebrows enquiringly and turned to Galdor who, whether by luck or judgement, was conveniently located at Elrond’s elbow. 

“Lovers’ tiff,” murmured Galdor and rolled his eyes.

“Ah,” said Elrond, “I always wondered.” 

Turning from Galdor he addressed the gathered throng. “My friends, thank you for joining us this evening. As most of you already know, I have asked you here to join with my beloved wife and I in welcoming the new member of our family – our little Ára.” He turned and gestured up the stairs as Celebrían came out to join him, quite unmistakably suffused with the glow of impending motherhood.

Such was Legolas’ embarrassment that he took what seemed to be the only possible route of escape and slid to the floor in a boneless, yet undeniably elegant, heap.

***

"Elrond and Celebrían seemed very pleased with the bootees you’d knitted," observed Sam sleepily as Frodo massaged his feet by the fireside later that evening.

“Yes,” said Frodo, “I only hope they fit. I’ve never tried anything more complex than a scarf before and certainly nothing for the feet. I might try doing a jumper for you next…though it seems such a shame to cover you up with even more clothing.”

Sam smirked. “All the more for you to get me out of.”

“Hmm,” said Frodo, thoughtfully, as his fingers sought out the sensitive pressure points on Sam’s feet, “maybe I could just unravel you, stitch by stitch?”

“That could be fun,” agreed Sam, “particularly if you tied me up with it afterwards.”

“Mmmm, you do have the best ideas,“ said Frodo, almost wriggling in anticipation, “that sounds nearly as much fun as shocking Legolas.”

“I’d have never taken him for a peeping tom,” observed Sam, “I hope he’s not expecting us to return the favour.”

Frodo was rather good at massages and Sam did love being pampered, but the mention of Legolas had reminded him of something that was worrying him and he found that he couldn’t relax and give himself up to the feeling of Frodo's talented hands on his skin with quite the same abandon as usual.

“Legolas seemed very out of sorts at the celebration today.”

Frodo looked up from his task and nodded. "You're right, and his reaction to Elrond’s announcement that Celebrían was pregnant was quite extraordinary."

"Mind you," said Sam, "I was a bit surprised to hear the news myself when you told me. I thought elves only had children when they were young."

Frodo’s voice took on the slightly lecturing tone that Sam found so sexy on those occasions when Frodo found it both necessary and pleasurable to administer some sort of mild chastisement.

"It’s true that elves usually have their children in their youth and within a short time after their wedding. I’ve also read that once their children are born their desire for such intimacy ceases and their minds turn to other things, but they can carry on for many ages if the desire is not satisfied.” Abandoning his scholarly frown for a moment, Frodo grinned impishly. “From Lord Elrond's behaviour I think we can fairly say that his desire is indeed yet to be satisfied. He has been most energetic in that direction of late…"

Sam chucked fondly, "like someone else I could mention.”

Undaunted, Frodo continued both the lecture and the massage. "…which is perhaps not surprising - after all, he and Celebrían have been apart for a long time and they must have missed each other."

Sam reached down and pulled Frodo up towards him, saying: "Like I missed you?"

Frodo smiled and placed a soft kiss upon Sam's eager lips. "Hush my love, we're together now."

Sam drew Frodo close and wrapped his arms around him, thus ensuring that it was some considerable time before their mouths were free to return to the discussion of Legolas' perplexing behaviour. However, Sam's subconscious mind had been worrying away at the problem even while the rest of him had been pleasantly engaged elsewhere and, despite the fact that Frodo's hands were now busy with his buttons, he stilled suddenly as a thought struck him. 

"Maybe he's broody?"

Frodo pulled away for a moment as he pondered the matter. “You mean like a phantom pregnancy? That certainly might explain the swooning.” Then he shook his head forlornly and replied: "But he can't have a baby with Gimli however much they might want one. It's rather sad, really." Abandoning his attempt to wrestle Sam out of his clothes, Frodo sighed and curled up against him.

Sam mentally kicked himself for distracting Frodo just when things were turning interesting. Trying to raise Frodo’s spirits, Sam quipped, "sad, yes, but can you imagine what they'd produce?"

Frodo looked up and his brow furrowed. "Well, it'd probably be fairly short but not as stocky as Gimli. More body hair than an elf and little pointy ears..." Frodo stuttered into silence and stared at Sam with a horrified expression. "You don't think…"

"I sincerely hope not," replied Sam and, abandoning levity, took Frodo’s mind off it the best way he knew how.


End file.
